


The Devil On My Shoulder

by iridiumring92



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Depression, F/M, Grief, I wrote this a long time ago, Illnesses, Language, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: Light Farron's sister, Serah, died three months ago from a chronic and deadly illness. Light can't cope with her sister's absence and begins to lash out destructively, pushing away people in whose company she once found solace. But her world stops when she meets dark and reserved classmate Caius Ballad and she seeks comfort in him instead.





	1. beautiful fighters

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a year ago, and I drafted the summary and concept even before that. I never felt like posting it, but I thought I'd share it with everyone so it didn't have to sit in the dark, cobwebby recesses of my computer's hard drive. I concede that it's not the best thing I've ever written, but I'm just going to throw it out there.  
> As a warning, this story is definitely dark - sooo if you're not about that dark & depressing fiction life, it might be best to turn back now.

_"If it burns too bright, then it'll burn too fast"[~ Anavae](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhSh5tzMjLU)_

_"For better, for worse, this love must be cursed"[~ Scary Kids Scaring Kids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq51QQLkZuU)_

 

* * *

 

Three months and they still didn't know what exactly had killed her.

 _Well, her illness,_ people would say. _That tends to do it_. But her doctors had already calculated, just days earlier, that she should have had years to live. _Years._ And that morning she'd had an attack and gone into the hospital. A week later she was ashes in the Bresha River.

Serah Farron. Eighteen. Senior in high school. Too young to die.

 _That's what they should have written in her obituary,_ Light always told herself. On the day that she had first seen her sister's actual obituary in the newspaper, she had torn the page out of her parents' hands and ripped it to shreds while they watched. She couldn't even force tears to her eyes. She felt an unnatural anger that she could only release by destroying.

Her parents just sat and watched her, their eyes full of liquid concern. She hated that. She wished they'd yell. She wished they'd tell her to go to her room. But they did none of the above. They looked at her and said the pain would fade someday, that this was a normal reaction. Right.

"Do you even _care_ about Serah?" Light had demanded. "You make it sound like she's just some goddamn dog that wandered off on its own! She's my sister! And she's _dead!_ Do you even understand?!"

"Light, calm down," her mother had said, so gently that Light had proceeded to turn and punch a hole through the nearest window.

She could hardly make it through a day of school. Day after day she left with blood crusted at the edge of her nose or medical tape around her hands. When her parents called, the principal had to tell them about Light's constant propensity for fighting. How she'd thrown punches at people who had so much as mentioned her sister's name or said the smallest thing to offend her. They'd sent her home early, threatened her with suspension, but nothing seemed to work.

"Light, you've got a look on your face." Light had managed to make it to lunch that morning, and she sat at a table with a few other people she knew. Even though she'd flown at Fang Yun a couple of weeks ago and had to be held back by Hope Estheim so she wouldn't break any faces, they still tolerated her presence. Light leveled her gaze at the source of the voice: Fang herself, with her dark hair and dark, intimidating eyes.

"You look like someone who's been staring at the same wall for a week," Fang said.

"I _feel_ like I've been staring at the same wall for a week." Light propped her chin on her hand.

"Light, you know, it's like Vanille said. If you want to talk to someone, you can definitely lay it on us," Fang pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"I know, but I—"

She broke off as her eyes locked with someone else's on the other side of the cafeteria. From their respective places at the table, her friends turned slowly to see what she was looking at, though they didn't need to. It had happened before. Light rose to her feet and stared down the blond, muscular Snow Villiers, her sister's ex-boyfriend.

"Light, don't," one of them said, turning back to her.

"And why shouldn't I?" Light replied through her teeth. Before any of them could reply, she left the table and strode directly toward Snow.

"You again?" Snow growled, making a face. "How many times do I have to tell you I didn't kill your goddamn sister?"

"As many times as it takes for me to believe you," Light snarled back. "I already know what you did to her. She didn't care about you. On the day she died, she was thinking about someone else."

Snow threw the first punch. Light flew backward, blood spurting from her nose. She felt the _crack_ as it broke under Snow's fist. Guarding her face, she rose to her feet again and made an attempt to return the favor. Snow dodged, and Light's fist hit nothing but air. He took advantage of her slip; he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She gritted her teeth but managed not to cry out. Still, he put the fight to an abrupt end by flipping her onto her back, knocking the breath out of her.

"Get out of my face, Light Farron," Snow said, leaning over her. She could only stare back—she couldn't draw breath to speak, and her vision blurred. She felt the blood from her broken nose trickling down her face. "Serah's as good as a ghost to us now. You might as well try to stop pretending you're so scandalized."

Light couldn't respond, though she fought to, and before she could even manage to drag herself up from the ground, he disappeared from sight.

"Light!" she heard a voice exclaim. Vanille Dia's face appeared over her, light pink curls bouncing around her face, her normally cheerful expression contorted in concern. "Are you all right? You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," Light insisted. "I'm fine."

She refused her friend's hand and pushed herself into a standing position, landing her hand in a pool of blood as she did so. Half of the other students in the cafeteria had turned to look at her, and the other half had turned to look at Snow as he stormed out. Light looked absently at her blood-soaked hand as Vanille looked on her with worry and Fang stood nearby with an eyebrow raised.

Light noticed someone standing across the cafeteria, watching her. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Guarded eyes looked directly at her, lavender hair fell into his face, and a smirk pulled at one side of his mouth. His _mouth_ —and those mocking eyes, hiding something; his defined jaw leading into muscular shoulders—Light wanted to walk up to him and ask him what the fuck he was looking at. Maybe what his number was, too. Maybe. No.

"Light," Vanille said. "Stop spacing out. You've got to go to the nurse's office before your nose—"

"I got it," Light sighed. "Happened before." She braced both hands on either side of her nose—smearing blood on half her face—and pushed the bone and cartilage back into place with a crack that made Vanille wince.

"But you're bleeding _everywhere_ ," Vanille said. "Come on, Light. People are staring."

 _Yes, they are,_ Light thought, casting another glance in the direction of the guy leaning against the wall. "Fine."

"I'm gonna go finish my food," Fang told Light. "I'll see you in class. Hopefully."

Vanille dragged her off to the nurse's office, and when she wasn't looking, Light threw an intentional look in the direction of the guy by the wall. He had kept his eyes on her while Vanille guided her across the cafeteria, and when their eyes met again, she could have sworn he nodded. She returned his half-smile and then made sure to keep her eyes front as she and Vanille left the cafeteria.

She was pretty sure she left more than a few drops of blood on the floor on the way to the nurse's office.

 

* * *

 

She'd beaten that goddamn Snow Villiers in a fight before, Light reflected as the nurse looked desperately at her broken nose. She should have been paying more attention. Why the hell hadn't she expected that first punch? Maybe she could have dodged it and gotten the advantage. . . .

And if she'd gotten the advantage, what would that guy standing by the wall have thought? She'd completely lost the fight and he'd looked in her direction with something like perverse appreciation anyway. God, what she would have given to walk over there and exchange a few words with him.

"Light." Vanille's voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked up. "Pay attention. Do you want to heal or not?" She gestured to the nurse, who had a roll of medical tape in her hand.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Light muttered, and Vanille glared at her.

 _Heal_ , Light thought bitterly. Her nose? That she hardly cared about. From the hole her sister's death had left in her chest? She doubted that would ever heal.

The nurse spread medical tape over Light's nose and offered to let her stay in the office until she felt better. _Sit in an uncomfortable chair in a whitewashed room that looks a little like an insane asylum?_ Light wanted to say. _No, thanks. Besides, feeling better's probably kind of an unattainable goal._

She declined the offer as politely as she could—though Vanille told her on the way out that she'd sounded more than a little like she wanted to kill someone—and moved on to her next class. The halls were silent, and when she parted with Vanille, she could hear nothing but her footsteps echoing against those lifeless, suffocating walls.

Walking in, she slid into her seat next to Fang and tried to avoid the eyes that probed her. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out her notes, but as much as she tried to concentrate on the lecture, she didn't hear a word. Her notebook page was still blank when the bell rang. She couldn't stop thinking about her sister, her fight with Snow, and the guy who had so blatantly watched the showdown from his spot against the cafeteria wall.

Fang gave her a meaningful look before grabbing her stuff and walking out without her. Light rolled her eyes as she shoved her notes back into her bag and set off for her next class.

As she crossed one of the school's main hallways, crowded with people trying to go in opposite directions, trying to get books or carry on conversations, she realized she recognized the black clothing and lavender hair of a figure standing in front of a row of lockers. The guy from the fight.

Light debated whether to approach him, but when he seemed to sense her presence and glanced right up at her, the decision was made for her. Perfect timing to make up her lost opportunity. She couldn't stop the smirk from surfacing on her face when she veered out of hallway traffic to face him.

"Someone's counted her losses." He shoved the door of the locker next to him, closing it. "That was one hell of a hit you took, _Light Farron._ "

"Let me guess," Light said, her voice suddenly involuntarily low, "you picked that up from the asshole who almost took me out."

"Without a doubt," he answered with a nod, "but I don't really think he's anything to worry about."

Light tipped her head to one side. "Who are you?" she asked, deadpan.

"Name's Caius. I don't believe we've met before." He smirked. "I saw you in that fight against Gadot. I think you could have held your own in this one, had you been paying attention."

"Are you offering to coach me in fighting or something?" Light asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not interested, thanks."

Caius snorted. "Not at all. I'm hardly an expert. I just find you . . . your escapades, that is . . . fascinating."

 _Escapades._ Who the hell even said that? Then again, he had slipped—and intentionally, it seemed. She could overlook his choice of words for the sentence's sort of double entendre. "Well." She cast him a coy smile. "I appreciate it."

"I should get to class," Caius said after a short silence. "Perhaps we should continue our conversation some other time."

"Sure," Light said. "When and where?"

He slipped his phone out of his back pocket and handed it to her. "I'll get back to you."

"Right." She entered her number and gave the phone back to Caius. Before he turned away, she allowed herself one last full look at his beautifully dangerous face, his eyes like sharpened knives and his perfect mouth—as soon as he disappeared into the crowd with only a short glance over his shoulder, she had to force herself to _stop_ thinking about him.

When she reached the door of her next class, however, she found the teacher there waiting for her. Before Light could go inside, the woman stopped her, holding a hand out. "Light, the principal has asked for you in his office. You should go there now," she said.

Light pressed her lips together, thinking of a thousand different retorts. But she decided, finally, not to make a scene, and to obey. It would be the last time, she reassured herself as she turned from the door without a word and headed for the principal's office.


	2. no particular reason

Principal Dysley didn't look happy to see her.

Then again, Light reflected, why would he? She'd caused seventeen fights in the last two months, eleven of which had caused worse injuries to the other party than to herself. This latest one was only an addition to the several that had involved Snow Villiers.

"Light, have a seat," Dysley sighed, already sounding exasperated. Light lowered herself into the shaky, uncomfortable plastic chair across from his huge desk. He braced his hands on the surface of the dark wood and looked at her.

"Why do you think I've called you in here?" Dysley asked.

Light looked at her wrist, though she never wore a watch. "Are you done asking that? I think both of us know why you brought me here—not just now, but all of those times."

Dysley sighed. "We also both know I have no time for your sarcasm. If you would cooperate, Light, and answer the questions I ask, we could be done with this meeting a lot more quickly."

"Fine," Light said, crossing her arms.

"Now," the principal continued, "why do you think I've called you in here?"

" _Conflict with another student_ ," Light recited.

Dysley looked like he was on the verge of rolling his eyes. "Yes. And who is this other student?"

"Snow Villiers," Light said, practically spitting on the desk.

"And the source of this conflict?"

"My dead sister." Dysley looked at her, merciless, until she revised her answer. "I keep telling him he could have tried harder to keep her from feeling . . . pain."

"Light, you know you couldn't have done anything more than you did. And neither could Snow."

"You're not a fucking psychiatrist," Light said. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," Dysley responded calmly, even as she moved to get up from her chair. "Though I know you did not directly cause any of the violence that happened this afternoon, you did provoke it, and for that reason I am assigning you two detentions this week. Thursday and Friday. You'll be in the library after school, doing strictly class work."

Light regarded him with a cold look. "Can I go, then?" she asked. "Are we done?"

"Yes," Dysley said, exasperated. "But Light, if you do not try to change the way you act at this school, the punishments will be far more severe in the future." He folded his hands. "I understand what you're going through, and I know that you are a good student. You can get past this, Light. I am sure of that."

"You don't know me," Light said. She made sure the door slammed behind her when she left the office.

 

* * *

 

After the last bell, Light made a beeline for the door, but before she could get there, one of her old friends—from before the split that had rent her life into two clean pieces—intercepted her. Hope Estheim, the son of a doctor, a much more dedicated student than Light was. She wasn't exactly sure how the two of them had started hanging out. He jogged up to her and caught her arm, stating her name with such finality that it made her pause.

"What is it, Hope? I'm not really in the mood for an intentional conversation," Light said.

"I'm aware," Hope said, slightly breathless from running. "I just wanted to tell you that we're still here for you. And I know Vanille said if you _want_ to talk, but I'm saying you _should_ talk to us. The two of them told me you haven't said anything whatsoever since Serah . . . left us. It's necessary if you ever want to move on."

"Hope, I know your father's a doctor," Light said, trying to keep her voice as even as she could, "but you don't need to talk to me about my mental health. I can deal with it on my own."

"That's just it, Light. You can't," Hope told her, latching onto her sleeve and attempting to pull her back as she moved closer to the door. "Talk to us. Please. It doesn't even have to be me. Just find someone to talk to, okay? And—Vanille told me to tell you that you can still sit with us at lunch. We're not going to abandon you because of what happened this afternoon."

Light tried to collect herself, to control her voice. "Fine. Whatever makes you feel better," she muttered. "I'll see you tomorrow. I think."

"Light . . ." Hope protested, but she broke from him and strode out the door without looking back.

On her drive home, she stared at her phone, lodged in the cup holder of the car she and Serah had tried to share—usually without success—during their three and a half years in high school together. The screen remained dark the entire way, and Light found herself wishing Caius would call. She wondered how long it would take him. He'd seemed perfectly intent on actually doing it, not just pretending. He'd looked genuinely interested.

And genuinely _interesting,_ too. She could write a goddamn essay on him and she hadn't even known him for twelve hours. If she had the chance to talk to him again, she was certain their . . . _conversations . . ._ could go on for a long time.

But he didn't call, and Light pulled into the driveway and entered the house with her phone clenched in her hand and her backpack slung haphazardly across one shoulder. She shoved open the door to her room and dropped her bag on the floor next to her desk, but she couldn't bring herself to concentrate on her homework, so she threw herself onto her bed and stared at the blank screen of her phone again.

She and Serah had used to sit together in the dark in this room, after her parents had gone to bed. Light would sit on her mattress, with her knees pulled up to her chest, and Serah would sit near the window on the floor, a mere silhouette against the soft light. They'd carry on long conversations in hushed voices so that their parents couldn't hear them, telling each other about their problems and their opinions. Serah had told her about Snow, and about someone else, too, before she'd stopped seeing them both and gone into the hospital. Light had never learned the name of the other boy.

And _she'd_ had to tell her sister the story when she had met Cid Raines a year or so ago. She'd waited until a while after things had already happened, both because she was reluctant to confess and because she didn't want to jump into it too soon. But Serah wasn't all too pleased with her for a while, even after she explained herself.

Either way, she and Cid had broken up at the start of their senior year in an explosive fight. They hadn't seen each other since.

Vanille called her, probably on orders from Hope. Light ignored the call and continued to lie staring at the ceiling. About an hour later, she heard the door open, followed by the footsteps and voices of her parents. She braced herself for the interrogation that was sure to come.

Her door eased open, and Light looked up to see her mother's face peering around the frame. "Light, we picked something up for dinner," she said. "Will you come and eat with us?"

Reluctantly, Light pushed herself to her feet and followed her mother into the kitchen.

"We got a call from your principal this afternoon, Light," her father told her, the annoyance plain in his voice. "He said you'd gotten into another fight."

"Did you need a phone call to figure that out?" Light asked, gesturing to the medical tape on her nose.

"Light," her father said in a warning tone.

"You can't keep doing this," her mother said. Her tone, rather than angry, was . . . _sad._ "Serah wouldn't have wanted it."

"Oh, go ahead, play that card," Light snapped. "How do you know what Serah would have wanted? You'll never know, because she's _dead_."

"Light," her father said again, his voice louder.

She said nothing, and her mother crossed the room to where she sat, placing a hand on her shoulder and setting a plate of food in front of her. Funny, Light thought, because she really didn't feel like eating anything now.

"We've decided you should see someone about this," her mother added in a quiet voice.

Light covered her face with her hands. "You mean a doctor."

"Yes," her father said.

 _Just like Hope said,_ Light recalled. _I get to talk to someone. And a complete goddamn stranger at that._

"Great," Light said, glancing at each of them in turn. "Like that'll work. The only person I could ever really talk to was Serah."

"You can't just—"

"I wasn't really that hungry," Light added, pushing the plate of food away from her and standing up from the table. "You can have this back."

"Your appointments start next week, Light," her father called from behind her as she stormed out. Light just shook her head in response.

When she returned to her room, she saw that she'd left her phone discarded on her bedspread. She picked it up and checked it again and saw that she had one missed call. The number wasn't listed in her contacts.

It was from Caius.

 

* * *

 

She didn't call him back until later that night, when she was certain her parents had stopped listening to her door to make sure she wasn't crying or stabbing herself or something else equally as unlikely. She lay back on her bed again and dialed the number.

His voice reached her immediately, deep and raw and serious. "Light. You didn't answer my call earlier."

"I know." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't . . . at my phone." _You didn't call me during the three hours that I had nothing to do but stare at it._

"I suppose I can forgive you," he said. "What do you say to finishing that conversation from earlier this morning?"

"You mean right now?"

"Yes, right now. But maybe we should arrange a time to talk in person."

"Yeah. We probably should." Light could feel herself grinning involuntarily. "Tomorrow after school? I think that café across the street is open."

"You're right, but it's never quiet enough in there. I have somewhere else in mind," Caius said, "if you're willing to take me up on it."

"Where?"

"Shhh," he said. "It's confidential."

She raised her eyebrows, though she knew Caius couldn't see her from the other end of the receiver. "All right, whatever you say."

"Then I'll meet you in the parking lot after school." He paused. "Anyway. I did tell you I saw you fight Gadot, didn't I? What beautiful execution. The way you took advantage of his lack of speed was brilliant. It's too bad the principal was there to break it up."

Light snorted. "The principal couldn't break it up if he tried. He's so old, we'd probably shatter him."

"He did bring an impressive entourage of security guards," Caius pointed out. "And that first fight you had against Snow was stunning. He never saw you coming."

"You can say _that_ again." Light couldn't help but smile as she remembered the fight.

"Any particular reason you started? I never used to see you on the scene, but now it seems you're everywhere," Caius pointed out.

 _Because I'm pissed,_ Light wanted to say. _And because of Serah._ But instead she answered, "I don't know. I felt like it, I guess."

She could somehow sense Caius's understanding, even though he only answered, "Ah."

"I should get going." Light sat up. "I've got some stuff to do. But I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course," Caius said. "See you."

She closed her eyes and held her phone against her chest. As much as she hadn't wanted to hang up, the thought of Serah had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She'd intended to finish her homework after hanging up on Caius, but she found she had no will to do it. Instead she curled up on her bed with her phone still between her hands and fell asleep.


End file.
